Not Cosplaying Around Any More

| CO, USA | Right | May 3, 2014

(I manage to get a job with one of my friends in a gas station on the north end of town, which is where a lot of the weirdest people are. My friend is entirely too trusting, and becomes friends with one of the homeless guys, an older veteran who rarely ever bathes. The guy hangs out with her when she has to work the evening shift by herself. I somehow get talked out of my phone number as well. One day I get a random text. It is a picture of a girl taking a selfie in the bathroom, having just applied makeup and a wig, with a weird border obviously added by a program.)

Text: “Guess who this is?”

(I’m confused, because I don’t know who would send me a text like that, so I check the sender. It’s the veteran, and after staring at the picture I realize it’s of my friend cosplaying.)

Me: “Hey… [Friend]?”

Friend: “Yeah?”

Me: “Did you post any cosplaying pics on Facebook recently?”

Friend: “Oh, yeah. I was working on applying the right amount of makeup to look like [Character] and posted it to get opinions. Why?”

(I show her the message, and she goes slightly pale)

Friend: “Who did this?!”

Me: “[Veteran]. I take it he didn’t ask permission before probably sending this to every contact in his phone?”

Friend: *even paler* “No.”

Me: “And I imagine the picture didn’t have this weird border beforehand?”

Friend: *barely audible* “No.”

(Fast forward a couple hours, and the veteran drops by.)

Veteran: “Hey, [Friend]! How you doing?”

Friend: “Did you send my cosplay picture to all your friends?”

Veteran: *looking proud of himself* “Yes! I thought it was really pretty!”

Friend: “All of them?!”

Veteran: *catching on to her tone* “Uh… yes?”

(Long story short, he got lectured in the middle of the gas station while other customers looked on. Over the next few days all of his buddies showed up looking for my friend, several of them intoxicated and making not so nice comments about her, before they were kicked out!)

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Diolch yn fawr Very Much, Part Dau

| Deiniolen, Wales, UK | Right | May 2, 2014

(I am on about my third shift as a new employee at a petrol station. I am currently the only day-staff member who speaks Welsh, and many customers, it seems, have never met the store’s Welsh-speaking night staff. As I live and work in a very Welsh-speaking area, my ability to use the language seems to be something of a novelty for the regular customers).

Customer: *in Welsh* “So nice to have a true Welsh-speaking Welshwoman on the staff here, even if you’re not local.”

Me: *in Welsh* “Well, thank you for the compliment. There are actually two ‘true Welsh-speaking Welsh’ staff members, but I’m afraid I’m not one of them!”

Customer: *in Welsh* “Sure you are. I mean it’s obvious you’ve come up from, like, [Mid Wales Town] or somewhere to study at [Nearby University], as your manner of speaking is a bit more polite than us lot. We do like to yell at each other, you know.”

Me: *in Welsh* “Well, you’re right about me studying at [Nearby University], but I’m actually from [Southern England town]. I’m polite because I am working in a shop and I’ve been trained to always treat customers with care and respect.”

Customer: *in English* “No f****** way! You can’t be English. Your Welsh is too good!”

Me: *in Welsh* “I assure you, I am English. I’ve had 3.5 years of Welsh lessons, and plenty of friends who’ve encouraged me to practice the language so that I’m comfortable using it in a work situation. I am flattered that you felt my Welsh was good enough to count me amongst born-and-bred Welsh speakers, though.”

Customer: *in English* “So you could understand everything I was saying to you just now?”

Me: *in Welsh* “Well, weren’t you of the impression I was from [Mid-Wales Town]? We sustained a conversation in Welsh.”

Customer: *in English* “I just can’t get my head around being able to talk in Welsh to an English person. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to talk to you in English. I can’t deal with talking to you in Welsh. It’s too much.”

Me: *in Welsh* “Whatever makes you more comfortable. Would you prefer it if I also switched to English?”

Customer: *in English* “Oh God, no! It’s about time you lot learned our bloody language!”

 

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Bound(ary) To Serve

| Canberra, ACT, Australia | Right | May 2, 2014

(We have a regular that comes in every Wednesday or Thursday night. This time, I’m on the register when he comes in. I am female, wearing a knee-length tunic over linen pants as it’s high summer and very warm.)

Customer: *without saying hello* “Are you pregnant?”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Customer: “I was wondering if you were pregnant. Are you?”

Me: “I don’t see how it’s any of your business, but no.”

Customer: “It’s just that I had a haircut today, and my hairdresser was wearing a similar outfit to you. She was four months pregnant and got angry at me because I didn’t notice or say anything. So now I’m wondering, do all women wear what you wear when they’re pregnant?”

Me: “I’m not sure why your hairdresser had such a strong reaction, but I’m pretty sure most women are wearing what I’m wearing right now because its 45 degrees celsius outside and not because it’s a secret code that we’re reproducing.”

Customer: “Oh, good point. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude by asking personal questions.”

(The very next week, he returns and again walks right up to the register.)

Customer: “Do you have a boyfriend?”

Me: *sigh* “Yes.”

Customer: “Are you going to marry him?”

Me: “Okay, sir, I think we need to have a quiet chat about boundaries…”

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On The Need For Hazard Pay, Part 7

| Toronto, ON, Canada | Right | May 2, 2014

(While I’m cleaning the men’s washroom, a regular has walked in.)

Me: “I’m sorry. I’ll just be a minute longer and then you can use the washroom.”

Customer: “Nope. Gotta go now.”

Me: “Well, then, I’ll leave and finish when you’re done.”

Customer: “Nah, don’t worry. I don’t have anything to hide.”

(I only just managed to get out of the room before he finished opening his pants!)

 

Refunder Blunder, Part 5

| Calgary, AB, Canada | Right | May 2, 2014

(I’m the assistant manager of my store. I’m at work on a quiet day when I get the following call.)

Caller: “Hello. I’ve got a problem here.”

Me: “Sorry to hear that. What’s the issue?”

Caller: “A refund with you guys didn’t show up on my credit statement!”

(It’s rare, but possible for an employee to make the mistake of charging the card a second time instead of refunding the money, so I check that right away.)

Me: “Oh, dear… By any chance does the same charge from us come up twice? If so—”

Caller: “No, no. There’s just no refund listed!”

(Baffled, I get her to give me the date and number from her receipt so I can look up the transaction.)

Me: “Oh, so, this is the sale transaction, not the refund. When did you come in to return the items?”

Caller: “I didn’t.”

Me: “You… Sorry, what?”

Caller: “I didn’t return them.”

Me: “So… you didn’t actually do a return with us, and now you’re wondering why there’s no refund on your credit statement?”

Caller: “Well, it just sounds silly when you put it like that!”

 

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